


The party when the wolf comes home

by ParadifeLoft



Series: What do they know about friends [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - ASoIaF setting, Gen, Volantis, political maneuvering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadifeLoft/pseuds/ParadifeLoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curufin seeks the aid of Finrod's status and support for his own family in the coming elections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The party when the wolf comes home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an AU prompt meme on tumblr.

His cousin was a guest in his home. That was the official line, at least, the line spoken of in the rich wines and fine courses of meals the tattooed slaves brought for them, the just-polished shine on the fountains and sculptures he’d carved, that glittered in the torchlight.

He’d always thought ‘guest’ too kind and soft and gracious a word for what the practise truly consisted of. Even in the quiet of his own home, insulated at least for a time from the streets crowded with marches and minstrels and dueling and merriment (sheathing vicious daggers and like as not poison in more than one goblet of wine), the politics of it had infiltrated, curled like heavy smoke in the foreigners’ and freemen’s inns, about his senses.

How could it not, with this particular guest especially?

"To have your house’s support, would be invaluable, for the both of us." The words rolled from his cousin’s lips like the slow swirl of wine in his glass. He took a long draught, reclining beside him against the cushions. “To increase your own standing as children of a second son, of course. And I might hope you, at least, would be sympathetic to our… unfortunate situation."

Of course. His _unfortunate_ elder cousins, _dispossessed_ , as they and their supporters called themselves. Curufin’s silky black hair, his dark skin, gleamed with the reflected light of the candles; the image, Finrod was told, of his late father, his father’s Rhoynar mother. Not like himself and his brothers and sister, nor like his still-living uncle the Triarch, all with the blood of Valyria on both sides, which many found more justification for their right to rule than his cousins’ mixed heritage, despite their father’s status as the eldest son.

"If I supported your brother’s bid for Triarch, I cannot imagine our cousins would be pleased with me. I see no gain in power from that. Nor do I see why I should aid in a plot that would set our family against itself again and undo much of Nelyo’s efforts." His own speech was measured, betraying little, he thought, but Curufin’s lips stretched into a smile that looked almost sinister from the play of shadows along his striking features.

His fingers tapped and curled lightly against Finrod’s shoulder, a gesture of familiarity not quite comfortable. “You assume they would keep their current position?" he queried, tone deceptively weightless and casual. He inclined his head to the side, and Finrod averted his gaze, turning down instead to his wine. “That assumption is, mm… less than entirely warranted," he continued.

Finrod was the one with looks that would lead most to call him Valyrian at simply a glance, but Curufin, he thought for hardly the first time, was the one with far more than traces of the old Freehold’s dragonfire in him.


End file.
